


Why Is It Plural?

by LionessOfTrebond



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Poetic, Sad, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessOfTrebond/pseuds/LionessOfTrebond
Summary: One small apostrophe can make a big difference.(George is reminded of what he lost.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Why Is It Plural?

George gets a lot of questions from the children that come into the shop. Yes, we still have Pygmy Puffs -- get one while you can. Yes, you can get 2 sickles off if you tell me a joke I haven’t heard before. (Oh, that’s one of my favorites.) No, of course it’s not illegal to set multicolored bats loose in the common room -- they disappear in a couple of days. It’ll make your Head of House mental, though. No, we don’t sell medicine, though laughter is often the best kind.

Every so often, he hears a certain question. Most children are attracted to the noise, the smells, the shrieks, and the laughter. Many children ignore him completely -- adults are less interesting than new toys. But every once in a while, George hears a certain, special question 

The adults know not to ask. They know too much and care even more. The children don’t remember, so they ask what they want to know.

Every so often, a child stands outside, staring at the sign above the door. George waits for them to come to him. When they do, they ask.

“Why is it plural?”

The first time, he asked them what they meant. 

“Your apostrophe is in the wrong place,” the child said smugly. “It should be Weasley’s, not plural.”

There was a short but loud silence.

“How d’ya figure?”

“Well, at first I thought it was Mr. Arthur’s business, but Mrs. Molly told him to stop spending so much time here. Besides, he works at the Ministry. Then I thought Mr. Ron worked here, but he says he never wanted to. I’ve never seen any other Weasleys here. So that means the sign is wrong.”

The child was beaming from ear to ear, so George leaned down and said, “You’re very bright, kiddo. Go use that head of yours to make something great.” The child ran off, and George was left standing there, remembering.

The second time, he smiled and said, “Everyone makes mistakes. That’s why life is so exciting all the time.” He winked. “That’s why we have our Effortless Eraser, in store now - for quill ink of every kind. You can erase the color of the walls, too - imagine what your professors would think! Erase your friend’s best dress robes before a dance, then see the look on their face! Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. How about it?”

The third time, he told them, “Sometimes, bad things happen. Sometimes, the plural is correct, and then it isn’t.” He placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it today. Today is a day for jokes and laughter. You’re here, aren’t you?” He gestured a wide, sweeping hand at the colorful space around him, so wide that it was easy to miss the broken glass at the futhest edge of his voice. “Go raise hell. Worry tomorrow.”

******* ****

This time, he said, “Why do **you** think?”

“Well,” said the child, dressed in new school robes, “I think it’s because when one Weasley does something, it isn’t just for him. It’s for everyone. All the Weasleys must have helped build the Weasleys’ joke shop. Right?” A loud bell rang out, and the child swung around to look as a miniature train sped by, throwing off sparks and colorful pictures in little clouds of smoke. He ran off to laugh at it with the other children.

George watched him go. _No_ , he thought. _It isn’t just for me._

*******

If you happen to pass by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, maybe today, you might be overwhelmed by the buzzing, dinging, exploding things in the shop window. You might see a mass of people inside, perusing the jokes and pranks and revelry. You might notice the gilded letters over the door that shine with a fresh coat of paint, and read the same as ever. 

You might notice, as you walk inside, a small portrait on the wall. Most people don’t. It’s the plainest thing in the room, after all. If you happen to look, you’ll see a young man waving at you from inside the frame, topped with Weasley-red hair. It’s a picture of the owner, you assume, except it has both ears intact. 

Whoever wrote the name must have made a mistake, though. Underneath, in clear and simple letters, it just says, “Fred.”


End file.
